I Tried (Prequel to So Long and Good Night)
by HelenaUrie
Summary: I DO NOT OWN THE LYRICS. THEY BELONG TO MCR. Located in Australia, there was an organization known as Dead Pegasus,who were fighting against Better Living Industries (BL/ind) and trying to prevent their rise to power. Demolition was one of DP's men. He always had feelings for a fellow soldier named Emily; however, in an unsuccessful mission, she was killed on the battlefront...
1. 1: Three Cheers for Tyranny

_Never let them take the light behind your eyes!_

A fellow soldier, with his head drooped in defeat, stood before Demolition. "We've failed another one. Only a few of us got out alive." He slightly choked on the "alive", as a tear started gathering in his right eye.

Demolition let out a disappointed sigh. "Three cheers for tyranny," he muttered bitterly while shaking his head frustration. _Our battle against Better Living Industries isn't getting any better; If only those brutes could just… go burn in hell!_ A rush of hatred and grief came to his head as he remembered the day of his father's tragic, quiet funeral, his sister and mother's brokenhearted weeping, and his overall misery. From the day his father was tragically killed on the battlefield, the war was going downhill.

Demolition belonged to Dead Pegasus, a rebellion group that originated from a company by the same title. Extremely despising BL/ind and their tyrannical brainwashing ways, Dead Pegasus decided to disregard their past non-violent ways, and throw themselves into a hostile war. DP's main base is located within the deserts of Australia, a large chunk of land surrounded by sea. The country is constantly under attack by their enemy, since DP is their main blockade to success. Now, Demolition wasn't native to Australia, and used to live in a small town named Monroeville, known for its late dawns and early sunsets. Every night, his family would lie on the soft green lawn, and give a kiss to the methane skies. Life was pretty much perfect, just like Demolition's favorite scenes up on the screen. However, the evil Better Living Industries soon rampaged through the peaceful town, and when their family heard about Dead Pegasus and their fight against the mega-corporation, they decided to flee to the main base and join the conflict. At first, his side seemed to be winning, but ever since those BL/ind filths somehow managed to gain a shitload of reprogrammed men (well… more like robots) and manufacture enough weapons, Dead Pegasus have been continuously losing battles. Even with exceptional tactics, they were simply overpowered. Better Living Industries had expanded with at least fifty million men; that's more than _twice_ the _entire_ population of Australia. Of course, DP did have their allies, but even with support coming from many directions, they were still frankly outnumbered. Demolition constantly wished those innocent victims would just realize how cowardly they were being by accepting the daily mind-washes of BL/ind, and following all the orders those pieces of shit gave them. It's as if for each one of Dead Pegasus soldiers, there's now an army of them.

Demolition did have a given birth name, but he preferred to use his nickname "Demolition" instead, as if to one day demolish Better Living Industries. BL/ind had torn his family apart; just a few months before his family's flee to Australia, his brother was manipulated into joining the mega-corporation, only to be mistakenly killed on the battlefield by their father, who was then slain in the same battle. His loathe only grew even more when the Draculoids murdered his best friend, Jake, in their second-ever massacre on Union land. Demolition swore to abolish Better Living Industries someday, and make them pay for all the things they did to destroyed life.

His sister, Helena, was the only family he had left, as their mother had passed away a year ago, due to the family's heredity of cancer. He was crushed when he found out his mother had been diagnosed with the deadly disease, and her funeral was easily one of the darkest moments in his life. At the burial, the misery was to the point where tears couldn't even flow out of his eyes. He was simply… frozen. All he could do was numbly stare as his mother was lowered into the ground, while his inner turmoil nearly choked him to death. Strangely, sometimes he'd still get the feeling that his mother is watching over him; perhaps that was why he's still alive, despite all the battles and turmoil he's been in.

Anyways, the past is the past, and he knew not to think about it. There was no time to dwell on his pathetic little miseries; he had to make a change and fight this war. Plus, his sister was at his side; Helena- young, beautiful and fearless, yet so gentle when it came to the people she loved. Before his mother died, he'd promised to her that he _will_ keep his younger sister safe.

Other than Helena, there was another person Demolition couldn't afford to lose. Emily was a valuable comrade, but more so, he had… deeply personal feelings for her. Her presence always soothed him, though she probably isn't aware of his attachment and fantasies towards her. Demolition hoped that she loved him back, and if they both make it out of this war alive, maybe they'll drive on, 'till the end of everything…

Hmmm… should they be called "Demolition Lovers"? After all, if the war is to end, they most likely would have destroyed Better Living Industries together. If only she knew how much he wanted to show her she's the only one...

In one of the huge living complexes of DEAD PEGASUS, Demolition and Emily were leaning side by side on a wooden desk in an air-conditioned office. There was an awkward, unpleasant silence crawling between them; Demolition wanted to be by her, but every time he nudged towards her, he would be overwhelmed by shyness. Emily silently blushed as Demolition stared blankly into the wall. "So… is there anything you actually needed to see me for?" She asked as she quickly turned away.

Demolition was hesitant to respond. "…no…" he whispered quietly, his cheeks flushed with a bright, discomforting red. Sighing, Emily headed for the door. "I'm sure we both have work to get done with."

Just as she was about to step out, the closed door flew open and out came a panting Andy, rushing in and almost slammed Emily to the ground. "Watch it!" She scolded him, annoyed. Amused, Demolition chuckled; Emily angrily glared back at him.

Andy ignored the two, pushing his hands against his knees and trying to hold himself upright. "You two are… supposed to report… to the… main… base immediately," he rasped as his lungs gasped for oxygen. "You… guys are on a mission to invade the… west coast of North America… report… immediately… don't pack… go right… this instant…!"

"Are you coming?" Demolition urgently asked Andy. Gulping, Andy shook his head, while Emily immediately headed out the door (still trying to hide her obvious blushing). Finally, Andy caught his breath. "Kid, at first I tried to object this invasion, but clearly that failed. Fuck." With a loud pang, he slapped himself in the leg.

Demolition casually snorted, trying to hide the fury and revenge rising inside him. _At last!_ "Well, we gotta do that someday. Aren't we against BL/ind-controlled North America?"

"Well, I suppose… Anyways, I gotta go. I'll miss ya," Andy told Demolition, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Stay safe."

Demolition replied with an exaggerated, faked wink, "thanks. I should leave now." He stepped out of the room, and after the coast was clear, he snarled with excitement. _Time to wreck those filthy bitches,_ he thought with a smirk. Then, remembering to report to the main base, he hurriedly chased after Emily, who was almost out of the building.

After Demolition stormed off, Andy muttered to himself, "Demolition, good luck on the invasion, and try to stay alive… I'm tellin' you, it's a suicide mission."


	2. 2: You are Never Coming Home

_At the end of the world, or the last thing I see, you are never coming home, never coming home, COULD I? SHOULD I!? And all the things that you never ever told me, and all the smiles that are never ever… ever…_

The sky was covered in looming grey clouds as rain ceaselessly poured down. Countless ships, gathered together in a huge cluster, violently rocked in the vast, tumbling ocean, their engines noisily growling as they tread forward. Soldiers sat inside the ship, wearing green battle helmets and military outfits much like ones from World War II. They each carried either long-range rifles or snipers, carefully wrapped inside a long plastic bag to keep out the heavy rain. Most of the soldiers remained solemn, though their ripped hearts were racing with the thought of them possibly dying on the battlefield.

In the middle of one of the ships, Demolition spewed out body fluid into the ocean, nauseated from the aggressive swaying. "Are you okay?" Emily shouted over the noise of the deafening engine and pouring rain, and Demolition nodded his head as his throat tightly gulped. Emily gave him a pat on the shoulder, then bent down and kissed the cross on her necklace, hoping to survive this "suicide mission". Meanwhile, Demolition, who had now recovered, scowled sideways into the distance at the never-ending sea, with an appalling feeling of dread drowning him inside. He tugged at the shoulder straps of his soaked green army backpack, trying to contain his trepidation.

With her right hand, Emily was now repeatedly tracing an upright cross on her chest and silently reciting the trinitarian formula in her mind. Demolition gave her a fake smile and tried to cheer her anxious mood up; looking up at the young man beside her, Emily returned him a forced wink. Demolition sighed, his heartbeat accelerating rapidly as he saw the beach up ahead. No matter how many times he's already been on the frontline, he would always still be engulfed with anxiety every time death was near. Countless Czech hedgehogs ***** were mounded on the sand, seemingly waiting for the enemy's pathetic arrival. The coastline was mostly flat (well, until an area of higher elevation, where the BL/ind troops loomed), except for the occasional sand dune here and there that could each shelter three or four soldiers at most.

All the soldiers quickly slipped off the plastic wrappings on their weapons.

Demolition closed his eyes, praying for the best while the loud pounding in his chest continued. Then, the motors suddenly died off, and jolting up, the soldiers in the front row brutally slammed the heavy boat door down, splashing a wall of salty ocean water into the air. "Go!" They bellowed as they dashed out of the boat, charging towards the beach. A second wave, which included Demolition and Emily, followed them, stampeding into the icy water.

Bullets started darting around from the faraway "higher elevation" that belonged in BL/ind territory. A few bullets hit Demolition's fellow soldiers, and as the shots pierced through their bodies and blood spilled out in all directions, they fell into the ocean, struggling around in agony and terror. One or two soldiers rushed back and helped get the nonlethally wounded get back up; others were left with no choice other than to die.

With water soaking his legs, Demolition finally made it to the beach, his heart pulsing uncontrollably and distress flooding out his senses. "KEEP RUNNING!" He roared at the soldiers scurrying behind him, thrusting the muzzle of his rifle at the enemy. Abruptly, a small hand grenade struck the wet sand nearby and exploded, showering murky substance all over their dark green army uniforms and backpacks. Tightly clenching his weapon, Demolition rushed to a Czech hedgehog and knelt low behind the metal, only a second before a bullet whizzed past his pale, sickened cheeks and hit another soldier. Demolition jumped in agitation, as his heartbeat grew faster by a few more notches and the bullet and screaming noises almost deafened him. The enemy's bullets relentlessly _pelted_ down to the soldiers, and for a few moments, all Demolition could do was heavily pant as sweat broke and cascaded down his face. The invaders were clearly at a disadvantage against the enemy's higher ground.

Finally seeing a chance, Demolition leapt up and screamed at his other soldiers, "GO!", as he boldly swung his arm around and pointed at some unclaimed sand dunes in front of them. A dozen courageous soldiers got up and started dashing behind him, though the less daring ones remained behind the barbs and hedgehogs. Suddenly, Demolition lost his footing on the sand and ended up crawling the last stretch, quickly arriving at the nearest dune, where he joined several of his fellow soldiers. He plummeted to the sand, supporting himself with his knees, and started shooting at the enemy. Two of them got hit before a bullet zoomed past his head. Demolition was, for a moment, dazed in the shock and terror of the battlefield; then, remembering Emily, he hurriedly turned around to make sure she was safe.

As she was bravely charging up to the beach, she was tripped and tumbled into the freezing water. Urgently getting up again and blinking a few times to regain her eyesight, soon dashing onto the beach, heavily panting as bullet noises rang in her ears. _Shoo!_ One of the bullets landed into the soggy sand right by her feet. She instinctively jumped in fear, then trampled over a fallen soldier's bloody body, finding a temporary hiding place behind one of the hedgehogs.

She wheezed with fear, closing her eyes as bullets flew past her body and shrieks of pain surrounded her. _3…2…1…_ she mouthed to herself, before getting up and storming towards the enemy again, stomping over the countless dead bodies already laying on the ground.

The enemy continuously fired bullets at the sand dunes; the men ducked down, letting go of their rifles and grasping the top of their helmets with their hands. Nearby, a grenade showered sand onto the sprinting Emily's wet uniform and face; as she dreadfully blinked, a bullet flew towards her body…

Emily's left hand desperately tried to grab onto the edge of a hedgehog, but the pain was just too much. She fell to the ground, the raw, unbearable throbbing in her chest burning, _scorching_ her. She twisted and writhed, but her movements only made the jabbing ache even worse. Blood spewed out from the lethal wound as she _shrieked_ in anguish. There was a fire of indescribably terrorizing agony sweltering inside her, spreading from her chest to the rest of her body. She continued to screech in torment, her rifle still forcefully held in her right hand. The warm liquid endlessly seeped out from her body, dripping down her uniform and onto the sand. Emily squeezed her eyes shut, desperately wishing something could stop the torturous suffering. She could hear someone screaming her name, but before she could recognize who the person was, her senses were dulled and all she could feel was the relentless suffering coming from her chest.

"Emily! EMILY!" Demolition cried with panic and dismay at the sight of her dying body. A few soldiers tried to hold him back, one even ramming his neck, but as his pupils constricted with fear, he managed to escape their tense grasp and crawl to Emily. As she screamed in torment, he frantically dragged her back to the dune, laying her body into his lap. "Emily… Emily…" he pleaded, his pupils still shrunken with shock.

Emily gasped for air, as her world started turning to nothingness, and the noise of bullets died down. She feebly smiled as he embraced her in a frenzy, trying to provide her with warmth and comfort and somehow keep her alive. "Demolition… I-I bought… a… wedding gown… I wish… you… could've… seen… me… wearing… it…" She wheezed, determinedly struggling to take an exasperating breath, but at the same time lovingly beaming at him.

"Demolition… I… love…you… Now, take this gun-" The last of her oxygen was cut off, and almost as if she were strangled, her body fell limp, with her eyes still open and her jaw dropped in a final gasp. The shallow rises and falls of her chest were gone, stopped to a lifeless cold. She seemed to be reaching for his rifle, but her hand never touched the weapon.

At the top of his lungs, in his arms, she died.

 _No… no… No…_

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A horrified Demolition stared at the bloodstained corpse that insensibly rolled off onto the sand. _No, she's not dead! No! SHE CAN'T BE!_ "EMILY! DON'T LEAVE ME! I PROMISE YOU, WE'LL BE TOGETHER, FOREVER AND EVER! PLEASE, _PLEASE_ DON'T LEAVE ME!" Devastated, he fiercely shook her body, his eyeballs shuddering with shock and disbelief. _EMILY! EMILY!... NO! SHE_ CAN'T _BE DEAD! NO! SHE'S_ ALIVE!

No matter how hard he tried, her body simply lay there, soaking the sand with death's red. Demolition starts aggressively, _hysterically_ slapping her face, hoping that she'd somehow recover consciousness and get up again. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" He _howls_ at her, his voice cracking on the last set of two words.

She was gone. But… nobody else seemed to notice; nobody else seemed to even care. _By saying you love me, you're making things harder at best... and these words will change nothing, as your body remains… and should I be shocked at the last thing you said? As my memories defeat me, I will end this direst…_

For a moment, he looked up at the ending sun, scorched and black; it reached in and tore his flesh apart, as those ice-cold hands ripped into his heart… _Imaginary wedding gown, that you can't wear in front of me…_

With hot tears streaming down his face, Demolition picked up his rifle and started firing at the enemy once more. Screeches of pain kept coming from the other side of the battlefield, with blood shooting into the air every time as the "machines" of the enemy fell to the ground.

 _I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR EMILY'S DEATH! YOU WILL ALL PAY; YOU WILL_ _ALL_ DIE!

The rage, the fury, the agony, the pain, the misery, the hatred, the sadness, the torment, the dismay, and the anguish of her death swelled inside him, soon exploding like a deadly nuclear bomb. Now, with her dead, the only way he could prove himself to her was to avenge. Whimpering in misery, he kept on shooting and shooting, his brain completely out of control. His fellow soldiers stared at him in astonishment for a few moments, before joining him in the attempt to destroy the enemy.

All Demolition could hear was the sound of bullets rushing towards and away from him. Everything was so blurry; his surroundings were whirling around and his ears were ringing a petrifying noise. It all hurt so fucking much… It hurt to the point where he was almost numb. His heart thumped with hatred, and all he knew to do was take vengeance for Emily.

A hand grenade flew towards Demolition's sand dune…

 _Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…_

The grenade exploded right into the dune. Right after he and his fellow soldiers were brutally thrust back with a shower of sand, blood and debris, Demolition's vision went black.

The Demolition Lovers touched hands as he fell down, next to her twisted shell, into a pool of dark red blood.

 _So, shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep…_

 _Just sleep…_

 _The hardest part's the awful things that I've seen._


	3. 3:I'll Never Let Them Hurt You I Promise

_And without you is how I disappear, and live my life alone, forever now!_

His vision was shrouded with blackness; he could see nothing but an opened coffin laying in front of him. Light seemed to be radiating off the coffin, as it greatly contrasted against its background's gloom. His head still hurt with the ringing of guns shooting out bullets, and the angst of the battlefield was only beginning to calm down.

Emily's corpse rested inside the coffin, with her hands holding a folded white wedding gown that was neatly placed on her chest. On her face was a haunting, beautiful smile, like ghosts in the snow, and though he knew for a fact that she had been killed on the battlefield, it was as if she were still very alive, and staring at him…

Insecurity surged inside his body, his heart racing.

The coffin suddenly vanished, and as a wall of mist dashed around his surroundings, Emily somehow stood up. Staring at him, she seemed to be screaming in horror, her gorgeous brown eyes wide with fear. Loud screeching echoed around his dark surroundings, and her arms flailed around helplessly. She seemed to be sucked into some sort of vacuum-like monster, and though she was trying to resist the strong pull, her struggles were useless.

Demolition dreadfully tried to reach out and help Emily, but he couldn't blink, he couldn't open his mouth, he couldn't tense a single muscle… in fact, he couldn't move at all. His inner turmoil and panic was quickly consuming him, and while he was desperately straining to save Emily, no matter how hard he fought his invisible cage, his efforts had no results.

Out of nowhere, Emily's brown hair morphed into Helena's long, wavy black curls, and her skin turned at least a few shades paler. Those unforgettable brown eyes became Helena's green, and as if she were having some sort of growth spurt, her height increased by two or three inches.

"SAVE ME! GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE! SAVE ME! I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE AND- AHHHHHH! MY DEAR!" A hollow, ghostly voice, laced with extreme fright, replaced Emily's terrible screeching, though it continued resonating around whatever darkness they were in. His younger sister thrashed around, trying to escape the monster's grasp, but its claws, like razor-sharp white teeth, clung on to her feeble body. Her arms reached out in despair, grabbing nothing but thin air. Blood poured out from torn-apart flesh as she continued screaming and panicking around like a butterfly trying to escape from a human who's about to tear off her wings.

The lone Helena was somehow split into two, each screaming their own pleas. One wailed, "YOU CAN'T! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE TO DIE! TAKE ME!", while the other one begged, "IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, JUST WALK AWAY AND-"

The two voices were both silenced as blood blasted everywhere, flooding the darkness with countless dashes of red.

 _No… no… NO!_

Demolition's eyes shot open and he sat up in an instant, hyperventilating in trepidation, then saw that he was chained to a metal chair.

"Your sister led a rather unsuccessful mission to rescue you, Mr. Demolition," the bald minion loomed over the scowling young man.

Demolition helplessly watched his tortured sister from behind a thick glass panel. He was still tied to the same metal chair, and all he could do was scream "no!" as electricity rippled through Helena's body and made her shriek with agony. The voltage wasn't enough to kill her, but she seemed as if she would rather die than be in the torment she was currently put in. He could hear her excruciating cries as the currents ran down her tied body and into the ground; in fact, he could almost feel her pain.

"NO! STOP THIS INSTANT! I BEG YOU, STOP!" Demolition turned to the minion beside him, frantic to end his sister's suffering. She was the only family he had left; she was the only person alive that he deeply loved. He can't lose her; he CANNOT!

As he pathetically watched another wave of electricity dash down the blubbering Helena's body, he hysterically howled at the minion, "PLEASE! I WILL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT; JUST PLEASE, STOP HER TORTURE!" Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes as the bloodcurdling bellow reverberated around the clean white room.

The minion gave a coldblooded smirk. "Stop the electrocution," he ordered the minions in Helena's cell through a telecom. Through the telecom, the minions clicked a few switches, and Helena groaned in pain and gasped for air. Her face then dropped limp, turning unconscious while still hanging from the metal bars she was tied to.

The minion turned to a wincing Demolition. "If you want her alive, you'll have to join Better Living Industries and destroy your pitiful union with us," he informed the prisoner. Demolition hesitated for a very brief second. _What? No! I can't just… turn my back on my allies and friends!_ "No! I-"

Before Demolition could even finish his sentence, another ripple of shock had already gone through Helena's already unresponsive body. Inside, Demolition surged with anger and fear; he knew he was powerless here, and fighting would only get him and his sister in more trouble. But if he wanted to save his sister, he'd have to betray and kill his friends…

No, he _needed_ Helena alive. He'd do anything just to keep her with him; all they had were each other.

"…Fine." He said with a firm voice. "I'll join you, as long as Helena lives." Stray tears started quietly rolling down his face as he thought about all the people who he would soon turn his back on…

 _No, Demolition. You must keep your sister safe. Don't think about those other people._

Lips curled, the minion snarled with laughter. "Good…" He unbolted Demolition's locks, giving him a signal to stand up. Demolition glared up at the minion, then slowly rose from the uncomfortable metal chair. The minion met his eye, and told him with a hideously unemotional voice, "from now on, you shall be known only as Pistol." He reached out his muscular hands and grabbed Demolition's, confidently shaking them with a fake, 'polite' smile on his face.

"But… why are you doing this? Why me?" Demolition cautiously asked, curious.

"Why you? Because you were the only survivor in that battle." The minion paused, amused at Demolition's gasp of disbelief. "In addition, you managed to take out more than 20 of my soldiers when you had the clear disadvantage. With your skill, of course we're keeping you! Don't worry, you'll be a fine addition to our already superior army. Follow me, Pistol, I'll show you your new residence."

Before he left the room, Demolition glanced at his sister one last time, frowning with worry for what would happen to her next, and recalling the flashes of bullets and blood. As more tears gathered in his eyes, he silently vowed to her, _"I'll never let them hurt you, I promise!"_


	4. 4: They're These Terrors

_But the shit that I've done with this fuck of a gun, you would cry out your eyes all along!_

 _We're damned after all! Through fortune and fame, we fall! And if you can stay, then I'll show you the way, to return from the ashes you call!_

 _We all carry on, when our brothers in arms are gone! So, raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die, and return from the ashes you call!_

Through his Draculoid mask, Pistol panted heavily as another body fell to the ground. His knuckles were white from gripping the black rifle too tightly, and tears were welling in his eyes as he, with guilt burning inside him like a deadly inferno, kept shooting at the enemy.

He felt utterly terrible, like a traitor, a monster.

A ruthless monster, obediently fighting alongside and becoming the very thing he once sought to destroy, and battling against Dead Pegasus, the thing he formerly pledged to protect.

 _Helena must be safe,_ he forcefully told himself. _It is essential that I protect her. I've made that promise._

He lay on the ground in prone position, his elbows supporting his upper body and the rifle held in his hand. With each shot, a bullet shell fell into the sand below him, making a soft clank against the shells already on the ground. He was surrounded by the sound of ammunition shooting at and from the enemy, or, his former fellow soldiers. Now, he's on the opposite side.

He kept on firing at the enemy, remorse and shame flooding his lungs and drowning him with each shot. As his hands went automatic, he became immersed in his dreaded thoughts.

Guilt. Shame. Terror. Betrayal. The blood that spewed out from the wounds of his bullets. As much as he wished he could hold himself back, for the sake of Helena's life, he _must_ keep on shooting. He desperately wanted to kill his "fellow" Draculoids, but no… He couldn't.

He felt selfish, for killing off his former friends and his belief of freedom, just to keep his sister alive and, hopefully one day, again by his side. Perhaps his intentions were pure and good, but now, protecting her had twisted into some form of unescapable addiction. It's as if there was a pit. Inside the pit are the lives of thousands of men and friends, and outside the pit was the life of Helena. It was such a cowardly act, but if he were to ever again unconsciously stand on the edge of the endless pit of deserting Helena, his brain would always convince him to step back from the pit and throw grenades down onto the thousands of people crying out and pleading at him. He would wince at the thunderous explosion and the suddenly silenced screams, but ultimately, he would walk away…

Finally, when a bullet whizzed past his neck, Pistol snapped out of his mind's nightmare, flinching, frantic to concentrate on the battlefield. He lounged forward a tad more, raising his body to give himself a better shooting range. Sand fell from his dirty "white" clothes, slipping down from the middle of the slope to his feet. _Pang!_ Another DEAD PEGASUS soldier fell onto the sand, a pool of blood forming around his writhing body. A combat medic rushed to the dying soldier, but was stopped when a nearby Draculoid shot him in the chest. The medic gave a loud screech that Pistol could somehow hear amid the rushing bullets and grenades, but he was shushed when another Draculoid shot him somewhere else on the body.

Wincing in unease, Pistol quickly looked to another direction, momentarily hesitant to shoot. He was positive that he knew the medic; perhaps they'd met before in a tactic conference. He ducked down and deliberately shut his eyes, as rage and sadness charred his heart. _I'm… I'm so..._

Pistol hesitated in his thoughts.

" _Save me! PLEASE!_ They're _killing me!"_ He could hear Helena's distressed pleas as she struggled around aimlessly, trying to escape the grasp of countless Draculoids.

A burst of anger and despair made him get up again. He returned to his prone position, shooting at his former allies. A stubby streak of tears began to leak down onto his face, as torment penetrated his heart and mauled away the flesh and blood. _Control yourself, or they'll spot you,_ he persistently tried to tell himself. However, the unfinished phrase from earlier broke through his mind's thick barriers, and reluctantly whispered,

 _I'm so sorry._

 _They're these terrors, and it's like- It feels like as if somebody was gripping my- They're theses terrors and it's like, it feels like as if somebody was gripping my throat. Like last night, uh, they're not like tremors, they're worse than tremors they're, they're theses terrors… Like last night, uh, they're not like tremors, they're worse than tremors they're- they're theses terrors, and it's like- It feels like as if somebody was gripping my throat, and squeezing and- it feels like as if somebody was gripping my throat…_

In the haunting night-black, Emily helplessly thrashed around as that silent claw tugged her away from Pistol. Pistol tried to free himself from the enclosure he was trapped in, but as always, no matter how much he panicked and flailed, he couldn't move. It was as if he were frozen in an ice cube that would never melt; in all the nightmares like this, he couldn't even blink an eye.

 _Please!_ She continued to cry out. _Can you hear me!? Are you near me!? Demolition,_ please _, can you hear me cry out to you!? Demolition, Demolition! DEMOLITION!_

He frantically tried to nod, but his neck was too stiff for movement. From the distress, his body felt as if it were sinking into lava, and his eyes could pop out from their sockets any moment, but something was holding him back. Pistol continued struggling to fight out of his cage, until suddenly, bullets came rushing towards him, and the blackness turned into a battlefield. There was so much crying of pain, accompanied by the sound of exploding grenades and slaughtering bullets. The violent ocean waves and the pouring rain added to the earsplitting noises, drowning Pistol with alarm and fright. The bodies writhing on the ground, and all that blood, the warm crimson that poured out from the infinite number of wounds stretching out on those dying bodies…

The formerly beautiful ocean was now stained into a hell-like shade of red, as fresh blood seeped out from the lethal wounds of countless dead soldiers.

Screeching. Bullets. Rifles. The gory waves, brutally crashing onto the shore as the rainstorm grew louder and louder. His surroundings were mere whirls, happening so hurriedly, and yet he could see everything… Limp bodies rolling down the sand dunes, dead bodies lying on the shoreline and floating in the water, dead bodies on the sand, dead bodies in every inch of visibility…

The final soldier was shot down with a _pang_ ; he collapsed onto the sand, soon limp, leaving Pistol alone and uncontrollably quivering as terror seized his brain, gnawing on the tissue and injecting a cocktail of panic, pain, and dread.

A beach contaminated with bullets, a seashore sketched with all those bloodstained "green" battle uniforms, a coastline of salty, scarlet water, a battlefield stained red…

 _Boom._ His surroundings switched back to the disturbing obscurity. Emily was still in sight, distraughtly squirming around in the darkness. However, now she had decided to start begging him to escape from the terrible claws of this monster…

 _Demolition, save yourself, I'll hold this monster back! These are words I thought I'd choke on, but Demolition, please, LEAVE!_

All he could do was tragically and helplessly watch Emily being swiftly pulled away, as she returned to shrieking Pistol's name. She struggled and struggled, but the horrifying eternal darkness soon swallowed her whole…

Pistol sat up, hyperventilating as his eyes widened in terror and shock. _Demolition! Demolition! Demolition!_ Emily's cries still echoed in his head. He gasped for air, then sighed, knowing it was one of _those_ nightmares again.

 _They're not real,_ he told himself. _The monster, the battle, and Emily. They're not real._

He tightly swallowed, washing away the voice inside his head with a forced _gulp_. The sheets were on the floor; he had probably shifted around during his frantic nightmare, or perhaps tossed the fabric away. _Ding!_ He looked to his right. The doorbell rang. He got up, recalling today he would receive replenishments for his pill bottle.

All Draculoids are forced to take pills every day, to ensure they remain emotionless and loyal to Better Living Industries. On his first day as a Draculoid minion, Pistol was told that "all Draculoids who refuse to take this medicine will be deemed disposable". Pistol refused to do so, and simply acted as flat and robotic as he could when confronting higher ranking minions. After all, he was nothing to them but a bullet, so why should they conduct a search just for him? Good thing he was rather exceptional at acting.

Pistol rejected the pills, mostly because he didn't want to become a robot and one day forget about Helena. After all, he was doing all this for her, and he didn't want to personally destroy his own "rightful" actions. Plus, perhaps in a twisted way, feeling such hatred and guilt, and knowing his pathetic, pitiful helplessness against the Industries, was a way of punishment and torture to himself.

Pistol eventually got to the doorway, and retrieved the bottle from the little sliding box situated at the bottom of the door. He stared at the medicine bottle gripped in his hand, then rolled his eyes in annoyance. _Ugh._ He shuddered at the clanking sound that the pills made as they swished around.

He strode to the restroom and twisted the bottle's lid off, hurriedly dumping all the pills into the toilet. Then, he wrapped the bottle in a thick wad of toilet paper, discarded the bottle into the trash bin, and walked away.

 _No. He's not a traitor. He's not doing this. No._

Tears trickled down her face, as she stared at the ground, shaking in disbelief.

 _It can't be true. It simply can't. He pledged to serve Dead Pegasus; he couldn't have become a traitor. Even if his intentions are to save me, he'd know that I'd rather have myself die than risk destroying the lives of countless friends._

 _No._

With tears rolling down her cheeks and a shaky voice built upon disbelief, she muttered, "Demolition, _brother_ , why did you betray me?"

Amused (in a robotic way), the minions continued to grin at Helena, whose ankles and wrists tied to a metal flatbed. One of them stepped closer, raising the needle in his hand. Helena jerked up, struggling to free herself from her confinement. "LET ME GO! _FUCK!"_ She spat.

However, it was useless. Slowly, the sharp needle sank into her flesh. Her vision blurred, followed by a harsh ringing in her ears. The world started to spin, and as the ringing grew louder and louder, someone hit her on the head.

The earsplitting ringing faded to nothing as her head dropped to unconsciousness.

He sat on his plain white bed, burying his face into the palms of his two hands, plagued by the humiliation and blame that suddenly made its way into his mind when he previously stared at his rifle. There were no tears; he restrained himself from spineless crying. He had no right to cry. He thought about the ruthless monster, the catastrophic killing machine that he has become...

Once more, he stood at the edge of the endless, dark pit, peering down at the many voices calling out at him. His face was flushed red with turmoil, as Helena's cries for help rang into his ears. Turning around, he frantically backed away from the edge, smiling in relief at the sight of Helena, safe and sound.

He knew she would never forgive him, but no, the only thing he wanted was for her to remain alive, even if it's at the cost of him forever known as a loathed defector.

 _Helena, there's things that I have done… You never… should ever know._


	5. 5: Where the Good Guys Die

_And say, ha, what I want to say! Tell me I'm an angel, take this to my grave! Tell me I'm a bad man, kick me like a stray! Tell me I'm an angel, take this to my grave!_

It's been three whole years. Dead Pegasus is on the brink of demise, all thanks to the actions of Bette Living Industries. As Dead Pegasus fades from existence, somewhere out in the deserts of California, the Internal Wars has had its rise and fall, and out of the debris of the war's end, a new rebellion for freedom as begun…

Wheezing from the tight pain in his chest but still holding his rifle high, Pistol and many other Draculoids burst into the main DP base. Hopefully _they_ won't recognize him; he had his mask worn skintight. A small pack of DP soldiers started firing at Pistol, so he reached for a hand grenade tucked on his belt, and chucked it at the enemies.

In a bright flash, several bodies were flung to the ground. Pistol, kneeling behind a desk, continued shooting at his former friends. _Whiz! Pang! Boom! AHH!_ The sound of ammunition and demise rang in his ears. _Shoo!_ Beside Pistol, a Draculoid was shot to the ground. Its plain white clothes became stained with red, as the Draculoid minimally wriggled around in a short-lasting pain. Pistol stared at the Draculoid for a moment, flinching in fear and disgust.

 _Helena…_ The voice inside his head reminded him.

Pistol's rifle continued firing out precisely aimed bullets, and a few more DP soldiers fell to the ground as blood shot out from the impact. Around him, objects were exploding and catching on fire; the room, in broad daylight, was glowing in a blinding yet terrifying, _special_ type of luminosity. One of the dead soldiers' eyes was still open, staring at the ceiling, while its mouth dropped wide with a last-moment shock.

Pistol winced and tried to stop, but his mind once more took him to the edge of the pit…

This time, Helena was being shot in the limbs, hanging from that same terrorizing metal bar that he saw many times before being deployed into this mission. She seemed petrified, screaming his name in agony, pleading for him to save her…

 _I CAN'T LET HER DIE!_

Ear-splitting loud blasts came out from the muzzle of his rifle, once more joining the countless Draculoids invading the front line. Once the front line of Dead Pegasus fell, they leapt up, abandoning all the bodies lying on the ground, and started furiously running towards the center of the base, determined to destroy the final remains (the highest-ranking officials) of Dead Pegasus.

Pistol dashed around amid the countless people, many whom now lay on the ground. Pistol couldn't hear the footsteps behind him; suddenly, someone swiftly pulled off his mask and threw it to the floor. Pistol turned around instinctively, tightly clenching his rifle.

"D-Demolition!?" Andy's voice shook with disbelief. "Demolition… WHY!?"

Pistol gasped in shock, and a surge of remorse soon rose to the corners of Pistol's eyes. However, he knew he had a job to do, and a loved on to protect. "Andy… I'm sorry," he whispered, lifting his rifle at him, and then, as he blinked the tears away…

 _Pang._

Andy fell to the ground. "Demolition… we'll all go to hell…" He choked out as blood seeped out from the edge of his mouth, before his head rolled to the side, lifeless.

 _What did I just do…!?_ Shaking in terror, Pistol started dashing away from the battle, his heart pumping with dread. _I'm… I'm… I'm…_

 _Demolition, no more._

The tight pain gripped his chest again, and Pistol froze, gripping his clothes in pain. He threw his black rifle to the ground, the machinery making a clanking noise. _Whizz!_ A bullet flew towards his right shoulder…

"AHHHH!" Pistol screeched in agony, letting loose of his chest and seizing his shoulder. The burning pain tore through his flesh, while blood spluttered out from the wound. He sprawled out on the ground in a semi-fetal position, his face scrunched up with ache.

The building rocked violently. Outside, they must be bombing it; Draculoids are known to be ruthless beasts that, 's long as they win, don't care about the lives of their companions. Punching his injured shoulder with a clenched fist, he desperately dashed on top of the blood and dead bodies of the calm former frontline area of the building, hoping to make it out before the building goes down. If he dies, they might kill Helena, so he can't die yet.

He abandoned his rifle, trying to use his remaining energy to push himself forward. Though the injury and the sudden chest pain continued to sear through his body, he constantly reminded himself, _"don't stop, or it'll bury me!"_ , and soon made it out of the building just before it rumbled loudly and collapsed. Exhausted, he knelt onto the ground of the empty battlefield, helplessly watching the other side of the building, where the escaping DP soldiers were being shot by another wave of Draculoids.

 _Why._

With tears wetting his face, he collapsed onto the sand, silently staring as the last glimmer of hope was lost in the rising cloud of debris. The sadness and torment raged on inside him like a violent gale, and the guilt turned it into a hurricane. The shame, the agony, the _tragedy_ of all his terrible actions…

Again, the sharp, jabbing pain abruptly entered his chest. He deeply inhaled, only for the pain to grow even worse. It felt like drowning, except it wasn't drowning. There was no water around him.

He sprawled out onto the coarse sand, twisting and turning as his face crumpled. " _Gah_ ," he groaned, his voice laced with agony.

Soon, the spasm eased off. Pistol grunted as the torture wore away, and with a squeal, he slowly stood up. On the darkest day, he watched as the rainclouds formed in the sky; the sun now hid behind thick, storming gloom that spewed out crackling, rumbling thunder. Loud raindrops, like tears of sorrow and wrath from the heavens, showered down onto him, soaking him in a downcast depression.

A dark haze covered up the last bit of light, and with a disenchanted sigh, the sun faded to black.

Dead Pegasus is done for.

 _I'll tell you all how the story ends_ _-_ _where the good guys die, and the bad guys win._


	6. 6: Run, Run, Bunny, Run!

_I'm shooting out of this room, because I sure don't like the company! Stop your preaching right there, because I really don't care, and I'll do it again!_

It's over. Dead Pegasus has been destroyed, and Australia is planned to be sunken down into the Pacific and Indian Oceans. Out in the deserts of California rises a new group called the Killjoys, which the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W sector of Better Living Industries will track down and abolish.

It was almost ten o'clock. Most Draculoids were situated in the banquet hall, celebrating (in a dull manner, of course) the Better Living Industries' victory over Dead Pegasus. Pistol stood somewhat distant from the leaders' tables, eavesdropping on a leader's conversation with another leader known as Korse. Pistol supposed he shouldn't talk; after all, Draculoids, being emotionless and all, really aren't supposed to have casual conversations.

Korse was drunk and the drugs were losing effect; he's gonna get in trouble from the Boss. Though the other leader tried to shush and calm him down, Korse was yelling in a beastly manner while trying to guzzle down more alcohol. Pistol was very surprised BL/ind officials could even behave like this, but then, he knew the leaders of each sector are given special drugs that perhaps allowed more freedom of mind.

"…So… I was t-talking with the Boss one…" Korse's words were slurred. He grumbled loudly, a gag afterwards, "…day, and… she said…" He bent down to puke.

As Pistol cringed at the sight of the fluid flowing out from Korse's mouth, he tensed, paying even more attention to Korse and the other leader.

"Shhh!" The other leader uselessly glared at him.

Korse coughed and snorted, before carrying on. "She told me th-that they're gonna execute-"

The other leader, along with a random Draculoid, were trying to pin Korse down and hopefully escort him back to his chamber so he would say no more, but Korse strongly refused, struggling for more of the alcohol lying on the table. "Hey, don't pull me away! Look at all th-the booze you're spilling!" What followed was a string of incoherent mumbles.

A lightbulb flickered on inside Pistol's head; he drew in a sharp breath of anxiety.

He was almost sure that they were going to terminate Helena. After all, the war has ended, and maybe now they think she is no more use; after all, he's "taken" the drugs, right? An intense sense of dread and panic washed over Pistol.

 _No… I've got to save her!_

He peered around to make sure nobody was watching, and quickly dashed out the hall. Even if they weren't planning to terminate Helena, they _will_ do it someday. He was sure of it; after all, wasn't she was just a pawn used by the BL/ind to control him? And when that pawn was deemed inoperable, just like Dracs who weren't willing to take the drugs, she would be considered disposable. Insecurity flooded his lungs and started drowning him, and once more he stood at the edge of the pit, peering down. However, this time, Helena was clinging onto him with immense fear, and inside the pit were not Dead Pegasus soldiers, but countless Draculoids, crawling up the walls of the pit and trying to snatch Helena away from him…

Sprinting as fast as he could manage, he made his way down the clean, white and empty hallway, towards Helena's cell. He knew there were always Draculoids either on standby or guarding the cell, so maybe threatening them by telling them it's an order would be useful. He didn't know if he'll succeed, but this was the best chance he's got. After all, almost everyone is celebrating.

Slightly wheezing from the long-distance running but still quietly tiptoeing, he finally arrived at the corner of the familiar hallway where Helena's cell was located. Pistol turned his head around the dark corner to observe the situation, and covered his mouth to try and not give himself off. One single guard stood in front of the glass, while inside the cell, Helena leaned sideways in a metal chair, uncomfortably dozing off. The guard seemed somewhat tired, though a white pistol was still held loosely in his hand.

Pistol caught his breath, and marched to the Draculoid in a robotic manner. "Tell me the passcode to the cell," he demanded the Draculoid. The Draculoid, turning to face the visitor, hesitated and reluctantly glanced at the masked Pistol. He knew very well that if he failed to guard the cell, he would be banished and most likely killed.

"It is an order from Sir Korse." Pistol informed him with a flat voice. The Draculoid nodded, seemingly convinced. "4438-2491," he told Pistol, before turning towards the hallway again. Pistol said thanks, and speedily raised his black gun up. _He's no more use,_ he thought to himself. The Draculoid, realizing Pistol was a traitor, instinctively reached for his gun, but was too late to respond.

 _Pang._

"S-"

 _Sir! We have a defector!_ Pistol stared down at the dead Draculoid, mocking him in disgust. He sneered at the Draculoid one final time, before realizing he should probably go save Helena before an army swarms down here. He tucked his gun onto his belt, and typed the passcode into the padlock on the wall.

He hurriedly dashed into the cell, spotting Helena in her chair. She looked too skeletal to be healthy; instantly, a twinge of sadness burst inside his heart, tearing him apart. She was a sickly pale, and slightly shivering, and her lips were chapped from a lack of water. The sight of her, so frail and ill, it just… hurt. "I'm so sorry, Helena… I'm so sorry that I failed to protect you…" he murmured, his voice laced with pain.

Quivering, he picked up the sleeping Helena, his still-injured shoulder slightly throbbing. As he ran towards the nearest entrance, he gently stroked Helena's cheeks, trying to comfort his younger sister, who was tossing around in his arms, probably in discomfort.

Soon, Pistol made it almost to the entrance. Helena's eyes opened slightly, only to flicker wide with alarm at the sight of a Draculoid carrying her. But before she could struggle from his grasp, another Draculoid jumped out from nowhere, knocking Helena and Pistol to the ground. From the impact, Helena's head bounced several times before finally lying still.

Pistol swiftly pulled out his gun again, shooting the Draculoid right before the opponent could attack. The Draculoid fell onto the floor, blood immediately leaking out from a hole in his chest. Pistol sighed, then hurriedly picked up the unconscious Helena up from the ground again, and dashed out the glass door.

He abruptly pulled out a motorcycle from the racks, swung his right leg to the other side of the motorcycle, and gently balanced Helena in front of him, to ensure she doesn't fall off during the ride. The engine softly hummed as it dashed away from the building. A few bullets started rushing from behind him, but by the time all the Draculoids could arrive at the scene, Pistol and Helena were already at the end of the street.

 _Too late!_ He sneered at the Draculoids, then tugged his Draculoid mask off his head, chucking it to the ground.

 _So long and good night, BL/ind._

The chilly night wind howled and washed into Demolition's face as the motorcycle vroomed on the desert highway. Helena, embraced in his brother's body's warmth, was still unconscious from the encounter with the lone Draculoid.

For a short while, the frigid air stung Demolition's lungs and made him wheeze with pain, but now he was back to normal.

There was a whole wide desert out here; where would Helena go? He knew BL/ind would be on the hunt for him, as they did not tolerate any defectors.

The Killjoys.

From the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, he knew they were lurking out somewhere out here in the vast sands, and he hoped they would welcome newcomers. But even if they don't accept Helena, he will find some way to protect her.

 _Helena, from now on, you'll be safe. I promise._


	7. 7: Cancer

_Now turn away, cause I'm awful just to see! Cause all my hairs abandoned all my body, oh my agony…_

It's been two years since Pistol had safely delivered Helena to the Killjoys. The Killjoys seemed to have gladly accepted her, though soon realizing that other than a few remaining shards, she'd lost all her previous memories. (She couldn't recall anything about her family or the past, but then, to everyone's surprise, somehow managed to remember her name.) Perhaps that was a good thing; maybe forgetting pretty much everything would put her in a happier state.

Very few knew of Demolition's presence out there in the desert; he had no wish to interfere with the Killjoys' and Helena's lives, and would rather simply watch over them in secrecy, providing as much protection as possible whenever the Draculoids lurk around. Plus, he really shouldn't risk the chance of Helena regaining her memories, since if she ever did remember him and still had a hint of love for him (and forgave him for his actions), she would be terrified of his current condition of health.

Anyways. Right after delivering Helena, Demolition had gone back to his BL/ind base one final time, just to kill off a shitload of Draculoids, since he was a criminal anyways. The fight was quite intense, and even though he came alone, a massive pile of bodies lay dead on the ground after the clash.

He had felt more alive than ever.

After a while, however, he was flung backwards by a grenade, and barely managed to maintain consciousness and escape with his motorcycle. He crashed and passed out in the middle of the desert and was saved by Dr. Death Defying, who then informed him about Helena's wellbeing and escorted him back to his dwelling. He asked Dr. Death to leave him undisturbed and his presence unknown, though he and Dr. Death did have infrequent conversations to keep Demolition informed about major events. Demolition had heard that Helena had a boyfriend named Poison; though he had never seen him before, Demolition trusted that Dr. Death and Poison keep Helena safe when he wasn't around.

Food was secretly delivered to him on a regular basis, although Demolition suspected he was most likely malnourished from the bland, disgusting pulp.

He really didn't have much to do out here; think of some famous last words to pass the time, maybe? He was too sick to do much anyways. In fact, nowadays, he could rarely go outside, which just adds more white to his already unhealthily pale skin. The days faded, the nights became long, and slowly, he grew cold.

"Maybe I'll laugh as I die… Hey Dr. Death, remember to celebrate the end of things with some cheap champagne!" He once jokingly told his friend in one of the occasional visits. Dr. Death had sighed, telling him he prays that Demolition will fight off his sickness, and that the Killjoys, no matter how unnoticed his presence, need him. Demolition shrugged, then sighed, expressing that it was already too late.

A condition, and it's terminal.

When he first found out about his cancer, Dr. Death urged him to get treatment, but Demolition refused, stating that for his actions, it'll be better off for him to die and go to hell. He was sure it's all going to end soon; his face was pallid and sickly, he was skin and bone, and unimaginable pain tore through him every day. He was increasingly ailing, gradually dying with every breath. Just to make it worse, he kept on having those nightmares of Emily screaming "save me!" and those battlefield scenes, and he was bound by some crippling depression that he would always manage to fake-laugh away. The wounds of war scarred him, and all those ghosts caught him in those terrifying dreams… Maybe it would be grand to take a pistol by the head, and maybe it'd be grand if he were dead, but he forced himself to stay alive and live through this torture, for the guilt from his ruthless, cowardly actions constantly (and mercilessly) clawed at him. And he _will_ continue to do so, until his demise and great fall, to the place way down.

 _Way down… way down… way down… way down… way down, way down, way down, WAY DOWN!_ Voices would whisper in his head sometimes.

Nonetheless, it was quite remarkable how he's still managing to cling onto his feeble life. He thought he would've died a long time ago; however, now, he was just counting down the days to go. It wasn't living, it was only _surviving_ through all his agony. Sometimes, he'd get illusions in which Emily would appear by his side, and if he called her a sweetheart, sometimes she'd even sing him a song. She always brought him a strange sense of comfort when she appeared, even though he knew she's really not so with him anymore, and just a ghost.

He knew he wouldn't ever be able to destroy Better Living Industries now that he was so close to his death; he hoped that after he was gone, someone else would fulfill his wishes. The hardest part was accepting he had to let go of his dreams, but perhaps one day, the Killjoys would somehow manage to end BL/ind's tyranny and restore the humanity that the Industry had destroyed years ago. Demolition knew they held enormous potential, especially the four Children of the Gun. Dr. Death once said that the Children of the Gun literally demolished an entire outpost's worth of Draculoids during one of their missions. It was rather impressive; in addition, the man named Poison was one of the Children of the Gun, which was the main reason he trusted Helena to be safe with them.

Sometimes he would drown in his own thoughts; wonders about what his life, his hopes and dreams, could've been if he had never joined the war. At first, he was so fascinated by the beautiful world, but now, like a sad song with nothing to say, he was so fucking disenchanted. And… if Helena ever remembered him again, what would she say? "I don't love you, like I did yesterday"?

Occasionally, the muscles in the tips of his fingers would involuntarily twitch. In the silence, he could hear the sounds in his head, the sounds he knew didn't exist. _Tick, tock, tick, tock._ A soft buzzing combined with another humming, the two produced with different frequencies. Then, the constant echo of voices, so gentle but so alarming.

In a delusion, he could see Helena standing by the doorway, leaning against the wall. She was smiling at him, her eyes laced with familial love. He, feebly lying on his deathbed, smiled back at her, before a loud cough rippled through him and made his body painfully shake.

Helena disappeared from his sight.

It hit him. Today, it was all going to end. This nightmare, this pain, this guilt, this shame.

After a long time, the cough finally ended and the discomfort receded. Demolition weakly inhaled, his breath crackling and wheezing quite a bit. He closed his eyes, and exhaled. A slight pain remained in his body (especially in his chest), as it had, continuously, for a couple of days.

Suddenly, somebody was stroking his face. He opened his eyes to the lovely scent of Emily, who was gently touching his pale cheeks. Demolition smiled into her beautiful brown eyes.

"Demolition," she tenderly whispered. Demolition's smile grew wider, and he drew in a raspy breath.

"Emily, my dear," he muttered, his voice rattling. She gave him a sideways grin, then leaned in for a kiss on the forehead. Even though he was sure she was just a vision, he could somehow feel her soft lips touch his skin. A tingle of warmth stretched out into his body; perhaps she was giving him a kiss goodbye.

Emily slowly removed his lips from his forehead, and the two locked gazes. "Count to seventeen, then I'll close your eyes."

He did what he was instructed.

"So long and good night," she whispered to him, then reached out with her gorgeous hands, and carefully shut his eyelids.

The warmth disappeared; Demolition knew it was time. The pain inside him was quickly ebbing away, leaving nothing but peace. Death would be so permanent, and maybe very terrifying, but he knew it was unavoidable.

At first, he still held fear inside him. The fear of death, the fear of a forever darkness. But now, that fear has been overthrown by an eerie yet powerful sense of tranquility, gently pulling him closer and closer to his demise. Finally, he shall burn in hell and get what he deserved all along, and hopefully, be freed from his misery.

He prepared to drift beyond the infinite cosmos, or maybe fall downwards. He was filled with an inexplicable feeling, haunting but beautiful. A loveliness, so chaotic yet so overwhelmingly stunning, like a nightmarish revere. Comparable to the fresh taste of sweet spring water, contaminated with the terrifying smell of blood...

He took a final breath, then let out a slight whimper of ache. The last of the searing pain escaped his body, and the blackness of his closed eyes was replaced by a blinding white light. He felt the heaviness inside him disappear, slowly floating up and away…

He hated the ending himself, but…

He supposed it started with an alright scene.

Just sleep.

 _Lips are chapped and faded, faded._


End file.
